I have known three things all my life…
1. My death would be a spectacle…
2. The day that I was to die would be recorded in the annals of history, witnessed by hundreds…
3. To this very day, you would know MY name, Barabbas.
My death was going to be nasty—the pain, the agony so exquisite that the stars would cry. Tears of light in glistening rivulets will course down the face of night to ME…the radiance of creation, from above and below, from east and west, flowing into ME, filling ME with piercing pureness, emanating outward, and filling the air with the aroma of freedom.
Yet, I woke each morning into the miserable existence called my life.
No! No! Give me the spectacle! Give me the fame!
So I chased my death with reckless abandon, wreaking havoc, causing chaos. In chaos I found violence and in violence, power. I craved that power and fed on the violence that nourished it. I took what I wanted when I wanted it—your wife, your weapons, your silver, your gold—your life. Ask the Roman. His death brought me to Pilate’s prison.
The day I was to die dawned.
My jailors, No-nose and Scar-chin, were adept with their fists. They were quite prolific with the cat o’ nine tails. They raked that thing across my back—again and again. They whipped it across my thighs. They took chunks out of my calves. I could hardly stand. I could barely breathe. I certainly could not speak. They were not done with me yet. They moved me towards Pilate’s Pavement where they would lay the beam across my shoulders and lash my hands to it. I would carry the instrument of my death to Golgotha.
As we approached the gate, I could hear voices, loud and boisterous. I heard my name. When they opened the gate, the courtyard was crammed with people, hundreds of them—MY audience.
Pilate was on his dais trying to shush the crowd. He called out, “Who shall I release, Barabbas or Jesus called Christ?”
The crowd screamed, “Barabbas.”
My legs would not hold me and I crumpled to the ground.
Pilate asked, “What then shall I do with Jesus called Christ?”
And the crowd exploded. “Away with Him! Away with Him! Crucify!”
Two of Pilate’s soldiers man-handled a prisoner. As they came toward us, I could see the lash welts. My beating had been mild in comparison! Someone had taken a length of thorny vine and twisted round and round and shoved it on His head like some type of crown. Blood dripped down a face pummeled beyond recognition.
As they passed by I had a gut-wrenching urge to follow Him. Go figure!
I could not have anyway. No-nose was releasing the leg irons from my ankles. Scar-chin took the chains from my wrists. They hoisted me by my arms and tossed me into the crowd.
I worked to keep my feet and let the crowd carry me to Golgotha. I ended up in a heap at the foot of the small rise they call ‘The Skull.’ Into the brilliant, bright Spring morning rang the sound of iron on iron as they nailed Him to the beam. Six soldiers lifted the beam higher and higher and higher until they set on the spike and made the cross. Then they nailed His feet to it.
The cat-calls and mocking—“Son of God, come down from that cross!” “Save yourself! Save yourself!”
He spoke. It took every bit of energy I had to simply draw breath, yet He spoke! He spoke to the thieves hanging on either side of Him. He spoke to a small group gathered at His feet. I had never seen such power in a man. He knew my agony but I would never comprehend the depth of His.
As He spoke, the brilliance of the day had vanished. The light disappeared like sand through an open hand until the sun quit and darkness settled on us. I do not know how long the darkness stayed.
Jesus called Christ cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” It made me squirm. Some moments later He announced, “It is finished. Father, into Your hands I commend my spirit.”
The earth erupted, flinging me up. I landed face-down in newly turned earth. I wanted out of there! I held my breath against the pain and got to my hands and knees. Bracing myself, I took the deepest breath I could to stand…
…and was filled with the fragrance of freedom. As I stood, the sun, well past its zenith, flared to life—as did my soul.
Three things I learned the day I was to die.
1. Jesus called Christ died my death.
2. Jesus Christ died my death—that I so richly deserved—so that I might truly live.
3. Christ Jesus…did…the…same…for…you…dying your death that you might live!
Let it be so! Amen!
Note: The Biblical interactions in this piece are the products of my memory. For the most accurate version of Jesus’ trial and crucifixion consult all four Gospels.
Scattered Verses 